Finder's Shore (8 page)

The low whistle carries across the waves, nudging me alert. The muscles of my back are stiff as old leather as I turn to scan the grey waves. Nothing.

Ronan is motionless, slumped in the stern. I check the compass. We’ve drifted again, the southerly swell shunting us off our westerly bearing. It’s a battle I can no longer win, but I can’t give up trying. Wearily, fingers white with cold, I pull on the oars.

“Ahoy the boat,” a voice calls.

I lurch around, oars flapping. We rise to the top of a swell and I see
Explorer
to our right, her bow lifting and crashing through the waves as she cuts a path towards us. “Here!” My voice is like the reedy cry of a heron. “Ronan,” I call, but he doesn’t move.

Taxing my tired arms, I begin pulling towards the ship. When we reach it, it’s more than I can manage to throw them our mooring line. Malik tosses one down instead, and swings himself nimbly after to secure it. He takes in the state of us as he prises my fingers from the 
oars. The sea feels alive beneath us, bucking and battering the dinghy against
Explorer
’s side. “Can you manage the ladder?” he asks, as he helps me to my feet.

“I —”

Dev is beside me suddenly. “Hold tight,” he says, swinging me up and over his shoulder. It’s not the most elegant way to arrive on deck, but I’ve no heart to protest.

“Kush?” My voice cracks. “Where’s Kush?”

A moment later he’s squatting before me. “Are you all right, Ness?” His cool fingers seek the pulse in my wrist.

“It’s Ronan. He cut his hand. It needs stitching,” I mumble. It’s the best I can do. My eyelids feel weighted.

“Get her to her bunk.” It’s Lara’s voice. “Kush, we’ll need the stretcher for Ronan. And get another line down. Malik, watch the gib.” The voices fade and I feel myself jostled, but from a distance. Before I can decide which part of me aches most, I’m sliding into a deep well of relief.

Orange light filters through my eyelids and I climb upwards towards it. A door snicks nearby. I turn, opening my eyes. Yesterday rushes back like water through a
spill-gate
.

Kush smiles. “Hello there.” He proffers a mug.

I sit up, wincing at the aches I find. The water soothes my parched throat. “How’s Ronan?”

“Sleeping. That’s a nasty gash on his hand.”

“I bandaged it; it was the best I could do in the dark.”

“You did just fine,” Kush tells me. “How about you, Ness? How are you feeling?” 

I roll my shoulders, feeling the pull around my ribs. “I’m not much used to rowing,” I say ruefully.

“If sore muscles are the worst of it, you’ve not done too badly. Lara wants to see you as soon as you’re ready.”

I slide my legs out of bed. My sodden clothes are gone, replaced with fresh, though I’ve no memory of changing. “She’ll be on deck,” Kush says. “Here.” He tosses me a heavy jersey. “Weather’s turned.”

When she sees me, Lara calls for Malik to take the wheel. The horizon to the south is shrunk to a wall of cloud, the waves treble the height of the swell we battled yesterday. “It’s lucky you found us before the storm did,” I say.

“Another few hours and we might not have.” She waves me ahead of her into the main cabin. “How are you, Ness?”

“Fine.” Rain batters against the windows, streaking through the dried salt. Lara motions me to a seat as she busies herself in the galley that’s tucked at the end of the small space.

“Where are we headed?” I ask, as she sets a mug of soup in front of me and sits opposite, propping her forearms on the pocked wood. “We’ve no alternative but to run north. It’ll blow out in a day, maybe two. After that, it depends.” Her brow lifts in a question but I’ve yet to choose my words.

Farra shoulders into the cabin, dripping rain and imprecations against the weather, Dev close behind. Both take seats at the table, making me feel outnumbered, though I shouldn’t. 

“You’re looking better than you were when we found you,” Farra says. He’s looking worse. He glances at my mug and wipes a hand across his mouth. “Don’t know how you can keep anything down in this sea.”

To ease his discomfort I swallow my soup, burning the roof of my mouth in my haste.

“I was just telling Ness that we need to decide where we’re heading once the storm is blown out,” Lara says.

“Anywhere the world doesn’t move beneath me,” Farra says. Lara’s smile holds just a hint of smugness.

They all listen intently as I recount my visit to Dunnett. Strange to think I was there for less than a day. It feels longer, extended by tension and tiredness.

“We can’t sail blithely into harbour and announce that we’d like to speak with the Council then,” Lara says when I’m done. “Where does Merryn’s friend live?”

“Dunn. It’s the island’s main town. Before the Council’s bans, the fishing fleets were based either there or in Tarbet, on the northeast coast.”

Lara studies her charts. “Looks like it has a good natural harbour, sheltered from the west. Once the storm’s played out, we’ll head south around the island’s eastern shore.”

“Out of sight of land,” Farra adds. “We don’t want any more rumours.”

Guilt assuages me. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

“You did all right, lass,” he assures me. “As it is, they’ve no evidence to back the lad’s account. One rumour means little. Two — well.” He shrugs. “At least we know what we’re up against.” 

“It might be better if we leave things a while, to let their suspicions settle,” Dev suggests.

“It’s better that we act as swiftly as we can,” I counter. “Colm’s paranoia isn’t likely to diminish.”

“Nor is his resistance to change.”

I fold my arms. “If we’re not going to act on the information we found, what was the point of going ashore in the first place?”

Dev’s expression tells me he’s not convinced, but Marta made it clear before we left Vidya that final decisions rest with Farra. “How much do we know about Wilum?” he asks.

“Only that Merryn vouches for him, and he was a fisherman once. She was sure he’d be interested in
sea-sci’s
tests, and even more in the possibility of change to the way things are run on Dunnett Island.”

“But the Council will oppose us.”

“The Council will do whatever Colm says, out of fear. He isn’t popular, just powerful.” The description Hetti gave of the Para leader flashes into my mind.

“Powerful is enough,” Farra says. “The more powerful he is, the more he’ll think he has to lose.”

“Colm doesn’t like to lose,” I concede.

Dev slaps the table. “Precisely. The risk of sending Ness ashore again is too high.”

“I don’t see that the risk is any greater for me. If anything it’s less: I won’t stand out, whereas most of you would.”

“There were always going to be risks,” Lara says. The look she casts Dev is cool.

Farra intervenes. “Ness, how hard will it be for one of 
us to pass ourselves off as an islander?”

“Malik’s colouring is closest,” I say, thinking of his pale skin and weather-burned cheeks. “With the right clothing and —”

“At least I’ve been to Dunnett before,” Dev interrupts.

Farra raises a hand to still him. “Devdan, don’t make this into something it’s not. The best way to keep Ness safe is to blend in. If Malik can do that better than you or I, he’s the best person for the job. You can trust him to look after her.”

Dev subsides, arms folded.

“More than appearance, accent will be a problem,” I say, into the uncomfortable silence. “We’d need some way of making it reasonable that whoever goes with me doesn’t talk — a toothache, maybe.”

Lara pushes her chart to the centre of the table. “The main harbour is too central. There are a couple of possible landing sites to the south.” She taps a finger on the paper. “But you’d be a long way from your escape route once you reach the town.” Her finger moves on, tracking the wrinkles of the coast. The map is old, and takes no account of the changes in sea level since it was drawn, but I have faith in Lara’s experience. “There’s a small slipway north of the main jetty. Depending on the tides, we might be able to get the surfboat in there. The dinghy at least.”

“I don’t like it,” Dev says.

Lara looks up, unsmiling. “I’m aware of that, Devdan, but it is what the governors sent us here for.”

It surprises me, a little, to find Lara my ally against Dev. 
The storm pummels us for another day before abandoning us in its wake. Farra’s relief is heartfelt and vocal. Lara steers us south and east.

When I go to check on Ronan, he’s sitting propped against pillows. “Hello,” I say. He looks vulnerable with his hair pushed back from his brow. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

The sharp pallor of his skin worries me. “You have to keep your fluids up. It’ll help your body replace the blood you lost.”

His mouth quirks. “So I’ve heard.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugs. “Kush told me that we’re heading for Dunn now the storm has passed.”

“It’ll be another day at least before we get there. The wind is against us, Lara says.”

He turns his bandaged hand in his lap, flexing and straightening his fingers. I resist advising him against it. “Are you going ashore again?” he asks.

“Malik is coming with me.”

Ronan scowls at his hand. Out the narrow porthole, a muddy line of light sits low above the eastern sea.

“I wanted to thank you for getting me down the cliff,” I tell him. “And to apologise. If Jed hadn’t seen us, Merryn wouldn’t have been compromised, and we’d not have had to climb down the cliff in the dark. You wouldn’t have cut your hand.”

His gaze is steady. “No need to take it all on yourself, Ness. I slipped, that’s all. It could have happened just as easily in daylight.” 

I doubt it’s true, but it’s generous of him to say it. I’m trying to find a way to tell him so when the door opens behind me and Kush breezes in. “I was about to change Ronan’s dressing, Ness, but perhaps you could do it. I’d appreciate a second opinion,” he adds.

I don’t know why I should feel nervous, but I do. Pulling a stool close to the bed I begin unwinding the bandage. Ronan’s palm shows a neat line of black stitching, but radiating out from the wound is a tell-tale stain of red. The flesh is smooth and slightly swollen. I touch it gently, assessing its heat. “There’s an infection,” I say, as calmly as I can.

Kush bends to study it. “The unguent I’ve been using should have dealt with it.”

“It’ll be the sea water.”

He looks up in surprise. “What makes you say so?”

I frown. “Cuts doused in the sea always go septic if you don’t get them washed out quickly.”

“Not in my experience.”

“Or mine,” Ronan adds.

I look from one to the other. “Even the smallest grazes are susceptible. Ty and I both used to suffer them. Dev’s wounds were the same.”

Kush considers. “There could be a toxin specific to the sea around Dunnett. It’d be worth running some tests. How did you treat the infections?”

“Merryn makes a salve. It works best if you apply it early,” I add.

“Do you know what’s in it?”

“Herbs — yarrow and plantain, I think, and some 
others.” I chastise myself for not asking about her medicines when I had the chance. “The main ingredient is honey.”

“Honey?” Kush looks sceptical.

“She gave us a jar,” Ronan says, flinching as Kush probes the wound. “It’s in my pack.”

“Let’s try this for now,” he answers, opening a salve I recognise from the med centre in Vidya. “It should work, as long as the infection isn’t too aggressive.”

In my experience it is, but there’s no gain to be had from saying so. Once I’ve finished dressing the cut, Kush advises Ronan to rest. He puts up no argument. As he slides down in the bed, his shirt rides up over his ribs. He’s not as thin as he was when I first met him, but he’s not far off. Ronan has precious little in the way of reserves to fall back on.

“Here,” Malik says, shoving a bundle of clothes towards me.

I regret the need to steal, even for a good cause. The clothes he’s garnered include woven trousers and a work smock for himself and a drab overdress for me, long enough to hide my boots. “I look like someone’s little sister, not yet grown into her cast-offs.”

“You’ll blend right in then.”

He’s right. The roads that climb the hill from the old harbour are unkempt, the houses dilapidated. Dunn is larger than I’d expected, but less prosperous — at least in those parts that we’ve seen. The canal where we left the dinghy was putrid with refuse, the sheds and yards that once served the slipway shuttered and rotting.

At the brow of the hill, Malik steps into the shadowed entry of an old fish factory, abandoned now to decay, its doors and windows barred. “You’re sure Merryn didn’t say anything that might help us find the address she gave you?” His voice is distorted by the wadding in his cheek. 

I shake my head. “We’ll have to find someone to ask.” It proves easier said than done at this hour, but at last an elderly man turns out of a side street and begins to trudge up the hill. “Wait here,” I tell Malik, ignoring his muttered doubt.

Doing my best to look young and beseeching, I hurry up to the stranger. “Please, mister, can you help me? I’ve lost my Pa, I thought I’d best go straight to my cousin’s house but I can’t find that either. All the streets look the same and I think I’m getting more lost not less.” I try a tremulous smile.

He smells of stale meat and sawdust. “It’s late for a girl to be out alone,” the man says, eyeing me dubiously.

“I’m not supposed to be out. I’m supposed to be at my cousin’s. We’ve a small-holding in the north and we only came to town today. I don’t like it like I thought I would. I need to find Pa!” I let an edge of hysteria creep into my tone.

“Hush, girl. Your noise won’t help. Tell me where you’re supposed to be and I’ll do my best to put you straight.”

I wring my hands. “Beaton Lane.”

He sniffs. “I’ll get you there, such as it is. You’re not far off.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself. If you could just point me the way.”

He pulls himself straight. “It’s a rough place, Dunn’s become, and the people rough with it. It’s no place for a young woman to wander at night. Your father deserves some schooling in the dangers of a town.”

Seeing I’ll not convince him otherwise, I fall into step 
beside him, trusting Malik to follow. The facades of the houses he leads us past are bleak. Piles of rubbish clog the pavements, so that we’re forced to swerve out into the pitted roadway. We’ve not walked far when he stops.

“This is Beaton Lane. Do you know which house it is?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry to have taken you out of your way.” I smile, hoping he’ll read it as a farewell.

He stretches his neck like a rooster about to crow. “I’ll see you safe to your cousin.”

I glance quickly behind but can see no sign of Malik. With my guide at my side, I start off down the lane. Number 17 is as tired as the others. I pause at the gate that hangs crooked from the ragged garden wall. “This is it. Thank you for your help, sir.”

My companion nods me on. “Let’s hope your cousin is home, and not out searching for you himself.” To my relief he doesn’t follow as I walk up the path, but when I look back from the step he’s still waiting by the gate.

The man who opens the door to my knock is stocky and a little stooped by his years, his sun-darkened face set in a scowl.

“Cousin Wilum,” I gush, “I’m so pleased to see you! I got lost. Is Pa here?” His mouth opens and I rush on, feeling my guide’s eyes on my back like a probe. “I didn’t know what to do, knowing the town not at all, but I said to myself, Merryn, you must find someone to help you, so I asked this gentleman for directions and he kindly walked me all the way here. Cousin, I have so much to tell you, and messages from my mother that I know you’ll be pleased to hear, and I’m sorry if I’ve caused you 
any worry.” I plead with my eyes. Did I imagine that his expression flickered at the name that I gave?

“Well,” he says slowly, in a voice that rattles like charcoal in a barrow, “it’s a surprise to see you when I thought you with your father. He’s not here at present, but I’m sure he will be directly.” He looks past me. “Thank you, sir, for getting her safe to us. It was a kindness.”

My guide bows stiffly. “I could scarcely leave her to make her own way. I hope you’ll give her father some advice about letting her wander the town so late.”

“Aye, I will. Come in then, young Merryn.”

Wilum — or so I hope he is — ushers me down the hall into the main room of the house. There’s a meal half eaten on a table by an armchair. “I hope you’ve a story with fewer holes in it for me,” he remarks.

“Sir —”

“Wilum will do, as you seem to know my name already.”

“Wilum.” I lock my fingers together before me. “Merryn sent me to you.”

“So I gathered. I’ll be glad to learn why, but first, your real name.”

I hesitate only a moment. “Ness.”

He gives me an assessing stare. “And have you eaten, Ness?” I shake my head. “Wait here.” He disappears through a low doorway.

I stare around the room. I’ve no evidence, yet, that he really is Merryn’s friend. A narrow mantel above the fire holds an assortment of clutter: tools, a jug, two picture frames so mired in dust it’s impossible to make out the images they contain. A hank of rope lies across a stack 
of implements in one corner. Besides the two armchairs and small table, there are boxes stacked one on the other, and three straight-backed chairs along one wall. Everything has an air of neglect. Above the single small window there’s a long metal tube, fatter at one end, strung up by cord. Behind the door we came through an axe handle stands, its grained wood polished and smooth.

Wilum is taking his time. I shift uncomfortably and wonder where Malik might be. Straining my ears, I catch the sound of water dripping, but nothing else. I move quietly to the window. “Sorry to keep you.” Wilum’s voice makes me jump.

He carries a tray with a teapot and mug, and two dark scones on a plate. “Sit, girl. No standing on ceremony here.” He smiles a little, as if he’s enjoying my discomfort. “Tell me, are we really expecting your father? I’ll fetch another mug if we are.”

I don’t trust him. “My father’s dead,” I say. “He was a fisherman.”

“Was he.” His flat tone gives nothing away. “Either he’s long dead then, or he’d turned his hand to another trade.”

I don’t want to discus my Pa as if he’s some coinage in negotiation. “How do you know Merryn?”

His thick eyebrows lift. “What makes you think I do?” He pours dark tea from the pot. “I’ve no butter or jam — but nor do you look as though you’re starving.”

I can’t make him out. Each word seems a test, but of what? “Merryn told me you were a fisherman once.”

“Once. If it’s your dead father that you’re hunting, I’m still on the wrong side of living to help you.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, I shake my head. “What do you do now?”

“Whatever I can. Have a scone.”

I take one. It’s stale but I bite into it gratefully. I was too nervous to eat much before we left
Explorer
.

“Not starving, but hungry,” Wilum observes.

A crash sounds outside, followed by a muffled cry and a dull thud. Wilum doesn’t move. A moment later the front door opens and steps sound in the hall. A man looms in the doorway. He nods to Wilum and eyes me suspiciously. “Caught this one lurking outside,” he says, gesturing behind.

A second man sidles in towing Malik. I start up and Wilum waves me down. The room is crowded with so many in it. Wilum points the men towards the chairs and they prop Malik, head lolling, between them.

“Now, who might this be?” Wilum asks. “Surely not your dead father.”

I raise my chin. “He’s a friend, and we’d have come together but for the man who showed me the way here. I didn’t want to make him suspicious.”

“Your friend seems to have run into a bit of trouble already,” Wilum comments, as one of the thugs tilts Malik’s head up by way of the bandage around his jaw. He mumbles and blinks.

“He has toothache,” I tell them.

Wilum leans towards me. “Ness — if that’s really your name — you’ll gather by now that I don’t take kindly to being spied on. I suggest you tell me your business, and hope I believe you.” 

“We’re not spying. I was led to believe you’d be interested in what I have to tell you. Merryn didn’t say how she knew you — and I doubt now that she does. I can’t imagine she’d have such thugs for friends.”

To my surprise Wilum throws back his head and laughs. “Thugs we are now, boys. Well, right enough, you did give her friend a wee tap.” His mirth disappears. “And rightly, too, finding him peering in at my window. I’ve had trouble before, young Ness. I’ve found it pays to be cautious.”

“If it’s Colm Brewster you’re worried about, I’m no threat to you. Colm wants me dead.”

“Then it’s a threat you surely are. An enemy of Colm’s taking tea in my living room — now what would the Council make of that?”

“I —”

Wilum smiles, more gently this time. “Shall we call the preliminaries over and get down to business? Tell me what is it that Merryn thinks I should know — she’d not have sent you without reason.”

I glance at Malik, but there’s nothing I can do for him till I’ve convinced Wilum that our intentions are honest. “I left Dunnett three years ago,” I begin, and Wilum, leaning forward, looks less the ruffian and more the leader I’d hoped for. As I describe the circumstances of my departure, his expression tells me he’s heard some version of my story before. All three men become intent as I sketch details of Vidya.

Halfway through my telling, Malik moans softly. I break off. Wilum says nothing when I cross the room 
and explore Malik’s scalp with my fingertips. There’s a swelling the size of a hen’s egg rising behind one ear.

“Your friends are a little hasty in their judgements,” he mumbles, his words slurred by more than the bandage.

“They’re sorry for that.” I give the men to either side a hard stare. “You could fetch me cold water and a cloth,” I tell one of them. He turns to Wilum for approval before he rises.

“And is this the stranger you found in Skellap Bay?” Wilum asks.

I shake my head. “This is Malik. He’s a member of Vidya’s sea research team.” I pause, framing my words. “We came to Dunn because we thought
Explorer
’s findings might be of use to you, along with other things Vidya has to offer. The governors are hoping that the island might be interested in trade.”

Wilum’s face is impassive. I decide I’d best come right out with it. “It’s not the only reason I volunteered to come back. I’ve a favour to ask as well.”

Ban, Wilum’s nephew, leads me through a tangle of streets that I’d never have negotiated alone, even with the stink of the tanneries to guide me. As we round a corner I stop in my tracks. A man and three boys are standing in the yard before us. Even dressed in rags and with his back to me, I recognise Ty.

He’s grown. He’s a head taller than he was and wiry, but painfully thin. His wrists, large and bony, show blue with cold where he bends to lift a dripping pile of
half-tanned
skins from a vat. Ban glances at my face and 
draws me back around the corner.

“That’s him then?”

I nod.

“It’d draw too much attention to speak to him now. I’ll take you somewhere to wait and fetch him to you if I can.”

The tavern where Ban leaves me is squalid, and I eye with distaste the murky pitcher of ale a weasel-faced woman slops onto the table. Dread rests cold in my chest as I wonder whether Ty will harbour as much resentment as Sophie — or more, for it’s clear that the life he’s come to holds none of the promised comforts of hers.

As the minutes tick into an hour, I wonder whether he’ll refuse to come; if even seeing me is too much to ask. The room holds a handful of men, their appraising looks like filthy fingers on my skin. The barmaid glares at my un-emptied glass and I order food to appease her, though I’ve no appetite for it.

I’m beginning to wonder what I’ll do if Ban fails to come back when the door swings open and my brother walks in. There are shadowed hollows beneath his eyes and the red welt of a scar mars his face, running from temple to jaw. With his head low he darts quick glances to either side. His eyes skip over me then back, his body jerking as if someone stuck a branding iron to his skin.

Stiffly, his eyes on the floor, he walks across the room and slides into the table’s empty chair.

“Hello, Ty.”

The muscles in his jaw tighten and shift. “I didn’t expect it to be you.” His voice has grown deep. 

“Did Ban not tell you?”

Ty’s eyes skitter across the stained surface of the table. “He said my sister. I thought maybe Sophie had come. I never thought …”

“I’m sorry.” I wonder whether he can know all that I’m sorry for. Ty doesn’t respond. “Are you hungry?” I ask.

His eyes flick up and away. I slide the grey-coloured pie towards him, and the ale. He wolfs both as though they’re his first food in days.

“Sophie told me you’d been apprenticed to a tanner. That’s how I found you.”

“You’ve seen her? I’ve seen none of them, nor had any news since the trial.” He breaks off. His hands, lying on the table before him, are cracked and stained. “How’s Marn?” he asks finally.

“I didn’t see him. From what Sophie and Merryn told me, he’s taken things hard.”

“And Sophie?”

I take a breath. “She’s engaged to be married next year. To Colm Brewster.”

Ty holds my gaze for the first time.

“She says it’s what she wants, and that it means Marn can stay on the farm.” A muscle twitches near Ty’s eye. I reach across the table and wrap my fingers around his. “We have to get you away from here.”

He stares down at my hand as if he doesn’t know what it is.

“Anything else here?” The barmaid’s interruption seems purposefully timed.

I release my brother’s hand. “The same again,” I say, 
laying one of Ban’s coins near her hip. She shoots me a hard look as she scoops it up.